


Sex and the Windy City

by VaguelyDownwards



Category: Kamen Rider W (Double)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Masturbation, Other, Trans!Shotaro, sad thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 13:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10640874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VaguelyDownwards/pseuds/VaguelyDownwards
Summary: One of two fills I did for a prompt on the Kamen Rider Kinkmeme. Prompt was: Shotaro/anyone or solo, "Shotaro has a wind fetish and blows a fan at himself while he gets off."





	

**Author's Note:**

> One of two fills I did for a prompt on the Kamen Rider Kinkmeme. Prompt was: Shotaro/anyone or solo, "Shotaro has a wind fetish and blows a fan at himself while he gets off."

Shotaro hadn’t exactly been in the highest spirits since… since the incident, but there were times when a man needed sleep, and his thoughts didn’t make for restful company. He sighed and wished yet again that he could be more like the detectives in those books, either hardened to needless sentimentality or unhesitant to numb himself with a glass of something strong. But Shotaro was as half-boiled as ever, and a stolen sip from the Chief’s private stash one evening had made him choke and sputter. “Stuff’s bad for you, anyway,” he said to no one in particular.

Which left him lying awake on a summer night, the hot air heavy and suffocating. For once, the Windy City did not live up to its name.

“Oi, Philip, can you do a lookup on some way to keep cool? I can’t stand th—“ Oh. Right. Of course he couldn’t. Shotaro imagined he could see Philip laughing at him for making such a sentimental mistake.

As much as it hurt to remember he was gone, the image of his partner taunting him had other effects. Useful for a guy trying to calm his mind enough to sleep. His hand crept lower, slipped quietly under the elastic of his boxers, as though Philip were there to judge him for inappropriate thoughts and actions alike. As though he wasn’t perfectly visible where he was, lying on top of his blankets in one last resort against the heat.

A halfhearted breeze wheezed through the open window, barely stirring the curtains before it died. Shotaro belatedly remembered an old desk fan, rarely needed in his beloved city, and put aside his current thoughts for a moment to find it. He set it on a shelf where it ought to reach his bed well enough, plugged it in, turned it on. It rewarded him with a low hum and a continuous soft gust of fresh air. Good. At least there were some small mercies left in the world. He shuffled back to his bed and collapsed on top of it.

Where was he again? Oh, right. Philip. He would probably say he was being overdramatic. Shotaro could hear his exact intonation, the slow an deliberate way he drew out the pronunciation of “half-boiled.” Like there was any chance Shotaro could miss the insult, or the affection behind it. He slipped out of his boxers entirely, no point in leaving that thin barrier between himself and the warm night air. He thought of the way Philip’s body felt against his, still boyishly slim and far too fragile, and the ghost of his thoughts dancing in Shotaro’s mind. Shotaro reached one hand between his legs and—shivered.

The breeze from the fan had picked up unexpectedly. Shotaro hadn’t realized he’d set it to oscillate, and what had been a gentle relief in his general direction turned into a teasing coolness that swept across his stomach, over twin fine scars, making his nipples stand attention. Shotaro gasped as it whispered over his neck like a lover’s kiss, barely enough to tousle his hair, and then the fan reached the end of its track and reversed direction.

This time he knew exactly what was coming, and the sweet anticipation was almost torment. Again the wind blew over his nipples, even more sensitive than before, drifted lazily down his stomach, teasing, taunting, before finally stirring the dark fuzz where Shotaro’s fingers hadn’t left his swollen clit. He felt even hotter than before somehow, and then the wind reached where he was wet and needy and it chilled him to the core.

It reminded him—he didn’t want to think bout it, but he did—it reminded him of being two-in-one, Philip’s mind such a welcome guest in Shotaro’s body, and Cyclone’s power gathering around both of them. He could imagine a silver scarf trailing over his right shoulder, Philip laughing in his mind, both of them caught in the adrenaline of the moment and Fuuto’s wind lending them strength. He rubbed faster, daring to slip just one finger inside. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that the wind ghosting over his body was his lost partner, wrapped around every inch of him feather-light. He had known Philip most intimately when they weren’t touching, after all, the joining of their minds so much more than any physical closeness.

The wind curled around his neck again, and Shotaro swore he heard Philip whisper “partner” one last time, saw the way his mouth quirked upward in that mischievous little smile. Shotaro came hard, hoping the walls were thick enough that no one would hear him moan Philip’s name. The pleasure hit him in waves, the wind always teasing one last aftershock to ripple through him when he thought he was finished.

The breeze was deliciously cool on his sweat-drenched skin. Finally devoid of thought, Shotaro drifted effortlessly to sleep and wondered if he would dream of the wind.


End file.
